


A Sky Owned

by Caffinated_Story



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Steampunk, M/M, Steampunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-05-26 16:19:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6246988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffinated_Story/pseuds/Caffinated_Story
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Preben is an up-and coming merchant, hoping his next job will propell him further up into the elite ranks.<br/>However, taking a sky route holds many dangers - and no amount of preparation can help him against the Airship Pirates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jerri_tangerine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jerri_tangerine/gifts).



The large ships spread their wings before steam rose from their chimneys.

Preben watched the large gears spin and spin – picking up speed until the right moment.

It was fascinating watching the ships take off and land – disappearing or emerging from the thick clouds above them.  
Of course, as fascinating as it all was, there was an element of danger to it all.  
Sky pirates weren't unheard off and even well known merchants knew of the dangers that air ships brought with them if you opted for the sky trade routes.

Preben tapped his cane against the cobblestone road and frowned.  
There was simply no other option for him - he'd decided after careful consideration that if his deliveries were to be on time the sky route was the way to go, or his business would fail far quicker than he'd like it to.

Air ship it was.

“You coming along?” Maarten looked almost surprised as Preben climbed onto the ship, handing the rope in his hands to a young cabin boy.

“Of course. Precious cargo,” Preben grinned.

“Got a weapon?” Maarten removed the pipe from his mouth and stared at the cane in Preben's hand. “Cause that thing won't do you much good.”

“Watch,” Preben smirked, tapping the cane twice against the floor as he pressed a hidden button by the handle, grinning as a long hidden blade popped out of the cane.

“Neat,” Maarten nodded. “Won't do much good against an air pirate attack.”

“Got an axe in my suitcase too,” Preben winked. “So let them try.”

“That's the right attitude,” Maarten smirked and flexed his mechanical arm. “You don't get very far up into the sky if you're not prepared for the worst.”

“Don't worry about me. I've still got all my limbs attached.”

“Let's hope it stays that way,” Maarten replied sombrely.

Preben laughed it off, carrying his suitcase to his own room below deck.

Sky pirates or not – he wasn't going to let anyone interfere with his shipment. The dock-officials be damned.   
He'd studied the coming and going of ships for weeks – this was the best time to leave if he wanted to arrive safely. He was sure of it.

The take off went smoothly, as expected of Maarten of course, and once they reached the sky above the clouds the sun shone brightly.

“Wind is good,” Maarten commented to Preben. “Not much activity either. Good visibility above the clouds as well. So any potential ambushes shouldn't be too hard to spot.” 

“Can't ambush us on a day like this... can they?” Preben glanced at Maarten worriedly.

“You'd be surprised what they can do, but no. It's unlikely. But stay on your toes. If they do arrive you don't want them catching you on your bed.”

“Hrm,” Preben grumbled. “I'll keep that in mind.”

Despite Maarten's crew being competent and experienced, Preben didn't allow himself to relax.  
Spare time was spent with the telescope, checking the horizon for other ships.  
Occasionally they spotted other merchants, but they weren't a threat, gliding past them a good distance away.

Preben started getting overly confident as each day went by without a hitch. Favouring his cane instead of his axe for most of the day.

A mistake he was going to eventually regret.

Around midnight on the 6th day of flying, Preben awoke to a soft and dull 'thud' sounding from the hull of the ship.

“A bird,” he told himself and turned around in his bed. Birds flew into the ship's hull all the time, he'd gotten used to the sounds.  
Dull thud. Followed by a shriek and then perhaps some panicked scratching against wood.

Nothing to worry about.

His door creaked open and Preben groggily sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes and trying to adjust to the darkness.

“Who's there?” he asked and started reaching for the cane by his bedside.

“No one,” came a chilling reply and Preben felt cold metal against his throat. “So stay where you are,” the voice added. “I won't hesitate to remove your head from your body.”

Something about the man's voice told Preben he wasn't lying.

“What do you want?” Preben asked, aware that for each word he spoke, the blade seemed to be pressed a little bit closer to his skin.

“Just some of your cargo,” the man replied and Preben caught the sight of a smug smirk in the darkness.

“Don't you fucking dare,” Preben hissed.

“Oh but I do dare,” the man replied, the back of his knife sliding down Preben's neck and to his chest. Cold metal against warm skin.  
Preben barely dared to take a breath. “You have something I want very badly after all...”

“Show yourself you measly coward.” Preben hissed, hoping for an opportunity to punch the offender in the face.

“Heh, gladly,” the man replied and flicked a switch that Preben couldn't see – but from the gloved hand on the man's right arm a small light illuminated the room just enough for Preben to see the intruder. He blinked, focusing first on the little bulb fitted to the glove – spotting little wires running down the glove and disappearing under the intruder's sleeve.  
The green glow lit up the man's face and Preben looked straight into a pair of eyes that if it hadn't been for his current situation he would have described as breathtakingly beautiful.

The man had an eye-patch over the right side of his face that had been pushed up slightly so he could use both eyes to see in the dark, and blond hair that fell in slight waves from underneath his hat.

“Pirate,” Preben sneered.

“Air ship Pirate,” the man corrected and licked his lips.

“Pirate none the less,” Preben grumbled bitterly, painfully aware his axe and cane was too far out of reach.

“Oh just play along,” the pirate said with a smirk. “You give me what I want and I'll let you walk out on your own two legs. Easy as that.”

“And if I don't help?”

“Then you say goodbye to a limb or two,” the pirate grinned wickedly and Preben felt his heart beat faster in pure panic.

“What do you want then?”

“Precious cargo has to have a destination...” the man hummed. “And if you're taking the skies it's going to be worth our while to check both this ship and the recipient out.”

“Go to hell,” Preben spat. 

“Gladly,” the man grinned, unfazed by Preben's anger.  
“After all, you won't need this, will you? You're right handed...”

Preben's eyes went wide as the man moved the knife towards his left arm, sharp metal glinting dangerously in the green light.

“N-No. Don't...” Preben realised he was begging a pirate, but the fear was far too real to simply play it off cool.

“Coordinates,” the man said and pressed the tip of the blade into Preben's arm. “It's a very simple request.”

Preben gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the burning pain shooting up into his arm and shoulder.

“Come on. I've not got all night...” the man pushed the knife a little further in and Preben felt the tip reach bone.

“South. We're going south,” he gasped.

“No, no. Not good enough. Coordinates. South is far too vague here. You're missing some crucial numbers here.”

“41°00′49″N by 28°57′18″E ” Preben whispered through gritted teeth.

“Excellent,” the man smirked. “Thank you for the information.” he added as he withdrew the blade, blood pouring out like a red waterfall as the blade was removed from his flesh.

“Fucker,” Preben cursed, pressing his right hand over the wound. His left arm felt numb and he was certain the damned pirate had severed a nerve.

“Oh no. That comes later.” The man laughed coolly and leant in so close Preben could smell the man's cologne. “Shame to fuck you when you'd just bleed out all over me.”

“Dirty pirate,” Preben spat angrily, fear pushed away by anger and searing pain.

“Dirty?” the man looked offended. “You wound me. I'm as clean as can be,” he smirked and ran his bloodied dagger over the white sheets. “Not a drop of blood on me.”

“I'll kill you,” Preben growled. 

“Oh I doubt that,” the pirate smirked. “But why don't you come find me... if you dare.” 

“I'll hunt you down,” Preben hissed, vision going blurry – or perhaps it was the light on the pirates glove that was simply fading.

“I'd love to see you try. Little merchant man... you can try to enter the den of dragons, but you won't make it out alive.”

“We'll see...” Preben mumbled a little too weakly for his liking.

“Sure we will,” the Pirate replied and pushed Preben down onto the bed. “You come looking for me. Ask whomever you want for the King of the Blue Sky. Do your best, I'll wait.”

Preben's mind was spinning and he wasn't sure if he was awake or dreaming when the pirate leant over and kissed his lips with a soft growl.

He heard yells and screams far away through what he though had to be thick fog – and as his consciousness slipped away he barely noticed the pirate leave. 

The weight of the pirate was replaced by the weight of something or someone else.

Daemon – Preben thought, unaware his mind was playing tricks on him.

He didn't register the shouts outside his room – or the sound of feet running over the deck above him.  
All Preben focused on as he fell backwards into darkness was that despite all the pain in his upper arm, he simply could not feel his fingers any more.


	2. Soar

“He's waking up,” a familiar sounding voice said and Preben tried to sit up: to no avail as several people pushed him back down on the bed again.

“What's going on?” he asked as he tried to look around, bright lights hurting his tired and weary eyes.

“Drink this first,” Maarten said and handed Preben a large glass of whisky.

“What for?”

“Just do it.”

Preben didn't question it anymore, downing the strong spirit as quickly as his dizzy head would allow him to do.  
“Good stuff this,” he mumbled and licked his lips.

“Yeah, you need it,” Maarten said with a frown.

“Oh?” Preben looked around, catching a glimpse of his left arm.  
Or rather, the remains of it.

“What the hell!?” he exclaimed and sat up far too fast for his body to cope with. Dizziness and pain hit him like a train and he fell back down onto the bed.

“Wasn't much we could do,” Anika, Maarten's sister and resident ship medic, said and gave him a sympathetic look. “It was a deep cut and far too risky to attempt to repair this far from any big city... Bad nerve damage and a severed artery made it hard to just stitch up.”

“We match,” Maarten said and held his own mechanical arm up in an attempt to calm Preben down.

“I don't want to match...” Preben sobbed.

“Shhh. It's okay,” Anika tried to reassure him. “This one is only temporary. It's one of Maarten's spare ones. Once we reach Micklegarth we'll get the necessary equipment to make you one just for you.”

“I see...” Preben sighed, trying to move his fingers, a little pleased that it appeared he could use the arm somewhat at least.

“Cheer up,” Anika smiled softly at him. “They could have taken both your legs.”

“Yes...” Preben mumbled. “That they could have...”

“We've either got to speed up or warn Micklegarth of the pirates. If they knew where we're heading they might hope to steal more cargo when we land.” Maarten stood up from the edge of the bed and grumbled.

“But if they took my cargo, why bother going to Micklegarth themselves?” Preben said as he rubbed his aching shoulder.

“They only took a few crates of the cargo,” Maarten sighed.

“What?” A wave of relief washed over Preben. All wasn't lost yet it seemed. 

“They grabbed a few, started coming back for more but seemed to get distracted by something on their own ship,” Maarten shrugged. “Not sure what it was but they all took off in a great hurry. Lucky for us really or we'd all be missing more limbs.”

“Yes. Lucky,” Preben spat. “I've got a bone to pick with that fucker. King of the Blue skies?” Preben snorted. “I'll show him 'king'.”

“Oh!” Maarten turned on his heel and stared at Preben. “You met Erik the Blue?”

“Is that his name?”

“Blond with rather weird purple eyes?”

“Yeah, think so. Mind is a bit fuzzy still,” Preben replied a little hesitantly. “Told me if I wanted to find him I should ask for the King of the Blue Skies.”

“That's definitively Erik then,” Maarten nodded. “Him and his crew are notorious around the trade routes and the likes. You can't see them coming. No one ever can.”

“You've encountered him too?” 

“Lots of times,” Maarten chuckled.

“Is he the one who, uh,” Preben gestured to Maarten's own mechanical arm awkwardly.

“Nope. He actually got me a temporary one when I first stumbled into a tavern bleeding and missing my original arm.”

“But he's a pirate!”

“And a fucking weird one,” Maarten shrugged. “We here in the skies all have different stories about him. Some hate him and want his head on the top of their masts, while others say they'd set up a shrine and worship him like a god may he ensure safe travel across the skies.”

“Well if I can mount his head on my wall then I'll be happy,” Preben sneered.

“Good luck with that,” Maarten chuckled. “You should be lucky he spared you at all.”

“Yes... Lucky for me. Not him.” Preben grumbled.  
“By the way. What cargo did they make off with?”

“A crate of Cinquefoil, a barrel of Feverfew, two crates of Sage, and at least one more crate containing Pennyroyal...” Maarten listed as he stared thoughtfully up into the ceiling.

“None of the gold?” Preben looked confused.

“Nope. They left all that alone.”

“What Pirates steal herbs instead of gold?” Preben asked and slowly tried to sit up a little more in his bed, swinging his feet over the edge and planting them onto the cold wood.

“The Blue Sky ones,” Maarten shrugged. “Either way, we better warn Micklegarth that they've been here.”

“Okay. I'll just... stay here for a bit I think,” Preben rubbed his eyes with his good hand and sighed.

“Lie down, drink some more and just relax. I'll see if we can find a good spot to land and take a look at the hull of the ship. We might need to do some minor repairs before we continue south.”

“Did they damage much?” Preben asked wearily.

“Small holes in the hull. Nothing dangerous, but a good idea to repair while we can.”

“All right,” Preben replied with a yawn.  
His whole body ached and the prospect of sleeping sounded awfully nice.

Anika checked up on him the following day every two hours, and after a while Preben started feeling more like a child than a grown man.

“I can walk you know,” he sighed as Anika handed him some soup and water.

“Of course. But save the energy you've got till we land.”

“How far away is the next docking port?” he asked as he looked out the small round window at the blue sky.

“About 6 more miles Maarten said. Bucharest is a good place to stop for repairs, Maarten knows a man there who can help us with anything we need.”

“Mircea?” Preben asked.

“Yes,” Anika laughed. “You've heard of him then I gather.”

“Your brother likes to talk about him when he's drunk,” Preben chuckled. “Sometimes he talks in a little bit too much detail.”

“Of course,” Anika sighed. “He's not an honest business man per say, but very useful. We can have you a perfect working arm in two days with his help.”

“Useful...” Preben muttered.

“Very. He can also check his own connections and find where Erik and his crew are heading.”

“Fine by me then,” Preben sighed and yawned. His whole body ached and if this Mircea guy could get him some serious painkillers then he was all for a pit stop in Bucharest. 

“Go back to sleep. I'll wake you when we're there,” Anika smiled softly, but Preben shook his head. 

“Need fresh air,” he grumbled.

“All right,” Anika smiled and helped him to his feet, ensuring Preben wasn't going to faint before guiding him up to the deck. 

The air was clear and cold, and send shivers through his body. Yet is was refreshing to stand and feel the wind in his hair as they started to descend through the clouds.

Below Bucharest began to be more than just a large mass of lines and dots, and Preben had to admit there was something very special about slowly seeing buildings go from miniatures to the real gigantic structures they really were the closer they got to ground. 

“Pretty cool or what?” Anika laughed.

“I can see why you ditched a hospital for this,” Preben hummed.

“Worth the risk. And someone's got to ensure my brother gets home safely.”

“Indeed,” Preben laughed. “I might need you to guide me around this place. I don't think I'm well enough to wander very far...”

“If you faint I'll carry you,” Maarten said and winked at him.

“As if,” Preben snorted, but appreciated the sentiment none the less.

“Just stay close to us and you'll be fine,” Anika smiled and offered her arm for Preben to hold on to.

“All right captain,” Preben joked and let Anika help him off the ship and onto solid ground. “Show me the way.”

It didn't actually surprise Preben that this Mircea-guy had a shop hidden deep down a dark alleyway, with buildings so tall on each side it gave the impression of being underground. 

“Greetings customers!” a chirpy voice sounded as the bell above the door gave them away as they entered.  
“What can I do for you....” the voice stopped the second Maarten stepped inside and all Preben caught was a blur of motion before Maarten stumbled right into a bookcase.

“Maarten!” a short and dirty blond man greeted enthusiastically. “You're back!”

“Yeah... ow...” Maarten grumbled and rubbed his head. “Couldn't just shake my hand like normal people do, could you?”

“No way!” the man laughed and pulled Maarten up to his feet. “Too excited to contain myself you know.”

“I know...” Maarten sighed, and Preben was sure he saw Maarten blush.

“Who's your friend?”

“Ah,” Maarten cleared his throat. “Mircea. This is Preben. A good friend and currently a customer of mine. Preben, this is Mircea.”

“New faces are always welcome!” Mircea grinned. “What brings you to me? Apart from my devilishly good looks of course!”

“We had a little incident in the sky... A little run in with the King himself.” Maarten gestured to Preben's left arm.

“Ohhhh.” Mircea stepped closer and inspected the mechanics. “This looks like your arm...”

“It is,” Maarten rolled his eyes. “We had to improvise. But hoped you could get him one that fits him better.”

“Well I certainly can,” Mircea grinned a toothy smile. “Will take me two days at least.”

“We can wait,” Maarten crossed his arms. “As long as it's done properly.”

“Of course it will!” Mircea looked offended. “I will give him the same treatment I do you!”

“Really?” Maarten raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, maybe not quite the same,” Mircea laughed and Preben looked worriedly at Anika.

“Ignore them,” Anika whispered. “They always do this.”

“I'm trying,” Preben frowned.

“Sit, sit,” Mircea commanded and Preben didn't really dare do anything else.

He hesitantly let Mircea remove the mechanical arm, measuring the remaining stump in all possible dimensions. 

The skin was still healing, and Preben tried not to hiss or frown too much every time Mircea touched the delicate and still healing skin.  
Anika had told him it would take time for the nerves to calm down, but Preben had never been a patient man.

“How sturdy do you need it to be?” Mircea asked, taking notes in a torn and tattered leather bound book.

“Enough to break a pirate's skull,” Preben grumbled.

“Oh. I see,” Mircea laughed. “No problem. I'll get right on it!”

“Thank you,” Preben smiled slightly. This was really not what he had hoped would happen, but he didn't have the energy to complain either. 

“We'll be at the Dragon's Head Inn,” Maarten said. “Usual place.”

“Of course. I'll send a little messenger when I have news.” Mircea waved them off and Preben was glad to be back out on the open streets and away from the dimly lit place Mircea called a 'store'.

“He's weird,” Preben remarked.

“Shut up,” Maarten grumbled. “He's good at what he does.”

“Okay. I'll take your word for it.”

“Just wait till you see the Inn!” Anika smiled. “It's amazing.”

“Dragon Head?” Preben asked.

“Dragon's Head,” Anika corrected gently and guided him through the crowds of people. “It's got great beer.”

“Ah. Coming from you that's a high praise.” Preben smiled and tried to relax. A few beers would surely do him good now.

Anika was of course right. The beer was exceptionally good and after washing down some painkillers Preben almost felt good as new.

“Sorry about your arm,” Maarten mumbled. “Should have ensured you'd be safer.”

“Done is done,” Preben slurred. He'd likely wake up in a few weeks time with enough fear to power a train on trauma alone, but right now adrenaline and anger was pumping trough him with enough force that all that was kept nicely at bay.

“Still. Will make it up to you,” Maarten grinned and slid another beer over to Preben.

“You're the best friend a man could wish for,” Preben grinned.

“You won't be saying that in the morning,” Anika laughed.

“Shhhhh,” Preben laughed, ignoring the tingling in his arm each time he tried to use the mechanics to grip his tankard. He'd get used to it all eventually. Maarten said mastering a new metal arm didn't happen over night.  
But Preben was stubborn if nothing else, and if he got to punch Erik's teeth out with a new hand then all was fine by him.

“Time for bed,” the bartender sighed once almost everyone else had left.

“Noooo,” Preben laughed. “We were just getting started.

“Get to bed,” he repeated once more.

“But Tinoooo,” Anika giggled. “Join usssss,” she laughed.

“Either crawl up yourself or I'll get Björn to throw you out,” Tino glared at them all.

“Björn?” Preben perked up and looked around the now empty bar. “What Björn?”

“The one who's going to kick your sorry looking ass out of here if you don't do as told,” said man said gruffly and Preben's face lit up in pure delight.

“Björn!” Preben greeted and stood up far too quickly for his drunk brain to cope with. “My dear little brother!” he laughed as Björn caught him right before he fell.

“Oh, a reunion!” Anika giggled. “How lovely.”

“Can't say seeing you drunk and missing a limb is the happy reunion I was hoping for,” Björn grumbled as he helped Preben back to his seat. “Honestly. What the hell do you get up to on your own?”

“We're on a business trip,” Preben said. “Then got ambushed. And now we're here.”

“I see,” Björn nodded. “You should all go to bed now... You've had enough.”

“Are you denying your own brother beer?” Preben looked heartbroken.

“Yes.” Björn replied sternly. 

“Listen to your brother,” Anika said and smiled.

“That goes for you two too,” Björn directed his glare and even Maarten seemed genuinely scared of the giant man.

“Okay, okay,” Preben said, wobbling on his feet as he stood up.

“Better help them,” Tino sighed and Björn nodded.  
“I don't want to explain to anyone why three people broke their necks trying to climb stairs...”

“Got it,” Björn hummed, ushering the three up the stairs despite protests from the three drunks.


	3. Floating

Preben didn't even remember how he got into bed, let alone how he even found said bed, but when he awoke the next morning his head was pounding so badly it didn't really matter. 

“Good morning!” Tino greeted him cheerily as he made his way downstairs. “Didn't heed my warning did you?”

“If I knew you're the one Björn works for I'd have stuck to water,” Preben groaned and rubbed his weary eyes, squinting at Tino and trying to stop the world from pinning so damn fast.  
If he didn't know any better he'd swear he was still on the ship. 

“Too late now. Vodka comes back for a vengeance if you're not careful,” Tino laughed darkly and slid Preben a glass of cold water.

“Yes, I'll heed your warning next time,” Preben mumbled into the glass as he rummaged though his pockets for the little glass bottle of pills, hoping a good dose of painkillers would relieve him of his headache.

“Soooo,” Tino leaned against the bar and smiled at Preben. “Who'd you run into to loose your arm?”

“Some fucking idiot of a Pirate called Erik,” Preben spat.

“Erik?” Tino's eyes went wide. 

“Yeah. Erik the Blue I think Maarten called him. He called himself King of the Blue Skies. A real stuck up jerk.”

“Ah yes,” Tino nodded. “Clearly.” he laughed a little nervously, but Preben didn't notice.

“When I find him I'm going to cut off his own arm. And then maybe another lib or two,” Preben grumbled.

“Good luck with that,” Tino smiled lopsidedly before returning to cleaning the bar, eyeing Preben worriedly from time to time.

“Oh breakfast,” Anika said and Preben jumped a little at her sudden presence – he hadn't heard or notice her arriving downstairs, but blamed it on his headache.  
“How's your head?” she added as she pulled up a chair next to Preben.

“About as bad as my arm...” Preben mumbled.

“Ohh, ouch,” Anika cringed and offered him a sympathetic smile. “It will get better. Maarten said it took at least 2 years before his nerves calmed down completely. And even then one some days he still feels his phantom limb.”

“Fantastic,” Preben said with gritted teeth.

“It will be fine, trust me,” she smiled so earnestly and Preben let himself believe her for the moment.

Maarten took only a little while longer to roll out of bed and joined them, barely uttering a word before Tino had fixed him coffee and something to eat. Just as Maarten seemed to be reaching a more alert lever of wakefulness, a small brown haired boy appeared at Maarten's side, holding a small piece of paper.

“Oh hello Ciprian,” Maarten greeted the small boy by ruffling his already messy hair.

“Mircea sent me,” Ciprian replied with a smile that made Preben want to hug the little guy.

“A note?” Maarten took the piece of paper and unfolded it, eyes skimming the contents before speaking.  
“Seems like he's got a prototype done already,” Maarten said as he folded the paper again, stuffing it into his pocket. “Wants us to come check it out.”

“Now?” Preben asked.

“Why not?”

“Fair point,” Preben shrugged, watching as Ciprian tugged at Maarten's long coat. 

“Up!” Ciprian giggled and smiled brightly as Maarten let him sit on his shoulders.

“Cute kid,” Preben remarked.

“Yeah.” Maarten nodded. “Where's your friend?” he asked Ciprian.

“Oh. He's not well. He can't come out and play any more,” Ciprian whispered, clinging onto Maarten tightly. 

“Oh, that's a shame,” Preben frowned. “Can't you go see him at all?”

“Sometimes he waves at me through the window,” Ciprian sighed. “But he can only come out for a very short time. It's so boring now without him.”

“Why don't we drop by and see if you can wave at him before we go back to your brother's shop?” Maarten suggested.

“Can we?” Ciprian looked down at Maarten in wonder, kicking his feet out a little in glee.

“Sure,” Maarten shrugged. “Just a quick detour won't hurt. What do you say?” he turned to Preben and Anika, who both shrugged nonchalantly.

“A little extra fresh air might help with the hangover,” Anika smiled and gestured at Preben.

“Agreed. Off we go. Lead the way Ciprian,” Maarten said, smiling at Cipran's happy laughter as he pointed at what streets to take.

 

Preben didn't manage to follow what street lead where, he blindly followed Maarten – who was taking directions from Ciprian, turning seemingly at random around corners and then almost backtracking through little alleyways.

If people were following them they'd have lost them by now.

“There,” Ciprian pointed at an old and worn house. “He lives there.”

“I think people get ill from being inside that building, not outside,” Preben mumbled to Anika who sombrely nodded in agreement. There were several boarded up windows, and plants had started to take over most of the front of the building.   
Not a single thing about the house seemed new or even remotely well taken care off, and Preben pitied whomever had to live there.

“Can you see your friend?” Maarten asked.

“Hmmm,” Ciprian squinted at the windows for a moment before waving excitedly up at the third floor window. “I see him!”

The others tried to follow Ciprian's gaze, but only caught a glimpse of something white that could have been a faded curtain for all they knew.

“Ah... he left,” Ciprian looked upset as Maarten lowered him back down to the ground.

“Maybe he's still not feeling good?” Anika suggested, crouching down and patting Ciprian's head affectionately.

“I just want to play with him again,” Ciprian sniffled and rubbed his eyes.

“Hello,” a very soft voice spoke and Preben whirled around.

The large wooden door had opened without a sound, and a small boy with white hair had stuck his head out of the narrow opening. 

“Halldór!” Ciprian yelled and skipped up the stairs to greet his friend.  
“You're allowed out!?”

“A little...” Halldór said and coughed. “My brother got some new medicine for me, but I can't go far. In case I have an attack again...”

“We can sit here!” Ciprian suggested and gestured to the stairs. “We don't have to run or go anywhere. We can just sit here.”

“But that's boring for you...” Halldór whispered.

“Nah. Not if it's with you!” Ciprian laughed. 

“And them?” Halldór asked worriedly and directed his gaze towards the adults who waved a little awkwardly at them both.

Preben though the little boy's eyes looked somewhat familiar, but shook the though away. It was probably his hangover making him paranoid as per usual he reasoned to himself.

“They're nice. Maarten is really cool and that's his sister Anika. She's a medic!”

“And him?” Halldór pointed at Preben.

“He's a friend of Maarten, so he must be nice.” Ciprian proclaimed matter of factly.

Preben gave another more friendly wave with his non-mechanical hand and smiled.

“Oh... Okay. Wait a moment,” Halldór whispered and disappeared into the house – returning a moment later with a coat, shoes and a small hat on – all of which seemed a lot newer and in better condition than the house.

Preben watched the two boys sit on the steps, Ciprian sharing some sweets from his pocket as he told Halldór about the big city and all the things that had been happening.

“And today Mircea sent me to the Dragon's Den to deliver a message!”

“Really?” Halldór looked amazed, but Preben almost got whiplash from turning his head too fast.  
Dragon's Den – that was the place Erik had mention.

“Yes! Mircea now thinks I'm big enough to be a messenger! Isn't that cool!?”

“Yes,” Halldór nodded. “It is...”

“Dragon's Den?” Preben inquired softly. “Where's that?”

“You don't know?” Ciprian looked up at Preben with a confused expression.

“No... Should I?” Preben glanced back at Maarten and Anika, who both shrugged.

“It's where I picked you up silly!” Ciprian laughed. 

“But that’s called Dragon's Head...Right?” Preben scratched his head.

“Oh. Yeah. The bar and Inn is the head. But below.. below is the Dragon's Den,” Cipiran giggled. “Only tourists and new people call it the Dragon's Inn!”

“What?” Preben turned to Maarten. “Did you know this?”

“Sort off... Don't know the details.” Maarten shrugged. “Why are you so worked up about it?”

“Because the fucker who ruined my arm told me he could be found there...” Preben growled.

“I should go...” Halldór whispered.

“What? Already?” Ciprian frowned.

“I need my medicine,” Halldór lied, hugging Ciprian before quickly disappearing inside the house, the door closing silently behind him.

“Look what you've done,” Anika scolded Preben. “You scared the poor boy away.”

“Sorry...” Preben sighed. “It's been a stressful week...”

“Better be on our way then...” Maarten grumbled. “Mircea did want us there as soon as possible. Maybe you can ask him about this Dragon's Den thing too.”

“Good idea,” Anika smiled. “He's bound to know!”

Preben nodded. Kicking at some rocks as they made their way back to Mircea's shop. Hangover paranoia or not, someone wasn't telling him the whole truth here.

“Where the hell have you been!?” Mircea looked grumpy when they arrived.

“We visited Halldór!” Ciprian explained and Mircea's expression softened. 

“I see... how is your friend then?”

“He's better. He got to be come outside for a little bit.” Ciprian smiled. “So I'm going to bring him some bread tomorrow.”

“Good plan buddy,” Mircea smiled warmly before directing his attention to Preben. “You.” he commanded. “Come here.”

Preben did as told. Letting Mircea strap the mechanical arm to him, little gears being turned and twisted until Mircea deemed it a suitable fit.

“How does it feel?” he asked.

“Pretty good,” Preben said, amazed at the handiwork as he opened and closed his fits over and over again.

“Good. Tomorrow I'll have the protective plates done, and hopefully the glove too.”

“You work fast,” Preben mumbled, inspecting the inner workings of the arm. He couldn't feel how much force he used, but it responded to the movements he tried to perform and that was more than good enough for him. 

“Got my secrets,” Mircea winked.

“Yeah, about those secrets...” Maarten cleared his throat. “What do you know about the Dragon's Den?”

“Dragon's Den?” Mircea blinked. “Why do you want to know?”

“Cause we're looking for someone who might be there...” Maarten gestured to Preben.

“Ah...” Mircea scratched his head. “Better take this to the back then...” he frowned and waved his hand for them to follow him.

Preben was astounded by the back room of the shop – it seemed to stretch up at least three stories, ladders and little rope lifts being the only access to the strange floors that seemed to contain everything one could ever need to build anything one could ever need in life.

There where shelves of precious stones, alongside shelves of books and blank pieces of paper. Some shelves contained jars with labels Preben couldn't read, and others held weapons he was sure he'd only heard about in fairy tales.

Preben couldn't see very more beyond the first ten shelves on the first floor, but it looked like the shelves above held everything from wood to bones to metal to marbled stone. And a stuffed lynx – or possibly just a sleeping one. Preben couldn't tell.

“Wow,” he uttered, amazed at the sheer quantity of Mircea's shop. This place was a merchant paradise and he wanted nothing more right now than to climb the ladders and explore every nook and cranny of the shop.

“Pretty nice, eh?” Mircea grinned, jumping over some books to get to a small kitchen alongside one wall. “Make yourself comfortable. I'll make us some tea.”

“Sit where?” Anika asked carefully.

“Anywhere!” Ciprian giggled and piled some books up into a small stool.

“Oh,” She replied and followed suit.

Maarten settled for sitting on a rolled up carpet while Preben opted for a pile of blank papers that looked like they'd carry his weight. 

“So...” Maarten looked gravely at Mircea. “What have you got?”

“The Dragon's Head is a pretty standard Inn. Bar and a room to sleep in for those who need it. Run 100% as the law dictates it should be...” Mircea said as he handed them each a cup of warm lavender tea.

“There are two houses on each side of the Dragon's Head – they look like regular shops, but they're referred to as the Dragon's Arms in the underground market. While you can buy legal things in the shop themselves, their basement is the entrance to a more illegal market. A market where you can get, well,” Mircea paused and gestured around him. “Anything.”

“And this 'Dragon's Den then?” Anika looked worried as she spoke.

“It's a second 'Inn' below the Dragon's Head. It's far from as nice and cosy as the legal one above – all kinds of shady characters gather there,” Mircea explained.

“Like us,” Ciprian chirped in and giggled.

“Yes,” Mircea sighed. “Like us.”

“Who runs it then?” Preben asked. 

“No one really runs it...” Mircea frowned. “It's a bit 'free for all' in it's own way. The current owners of The Dragon's head don't exactly own the Den too, but they still run it... Complicated matters really. I don't know, but since they provide the alcohol no one's going to complain either way.”

“You're joking,” Preben stared at Mircea. “Björn is my brother. He wouldn't get involved with crooks and pirates!”

“It's a tough world out there, and there's really good money in the black market too,” Mircea shrugged.

“But they're bad guys!” Preben looked at Mircea with a frown.

“In who's eyes?” Mircea asked and crossed his arms. “You think you're the resident expert on why people turn to crime?”

“I...uh,” Preben's face went red and he had to avert his eyes. “No,” he mumbled.

“Precisely. Anyway,” Mircea took a sip of his own tea before continuing. “The Dragon's Den is a good place for information or tools. You need something done? The Den will provide the people and whatever else you need to get it finished. Name your price and people will do anything.”

“Lovely,” Preben frowned. “So let me just push the fact that my own brother is in on this horrible thing... what can you tell me about Erik? This King of the Blue Skies?”

“It's not just some made up name,” Mircea sighed. “He's well and truly earned the title in his own right. I don't thing he didn't adopt the name until everyone else started calling him it and it just stuck.”

“All right, so he's good at being a pirate. What else? Got some sob story about him or something? Because he ruined my arm,” Preben sneered.

“I can't help you much on him beyond that,” Mircea shrugged. “He keeps his private life closely guarded. All I know is that he's got some hide away here in the city.” 

“So if we go to the Den we can find him?” Anika asked.

“Maybe,” Mircea sighed. “Maybe not. He's not stupid, if he thinks you'll come to get him he won't just sit and wait like some sort of bait. He'll be plotting something else I suspect.”

“Erik is well liked amongst the underground,” Maarten said and lit his pipe. “We won't find anyone willing to rat him out. Not even on their life.”

“So what do I do?” Preben asked. “I want revenge!”

“I'd suggest letting it go, but you don't look like the type,” Mircea scoffed.

“Damn right,” Preben hissed.

“Well, you can try to lurk around there, see if you find him, beyond that have nothing more I can do for you.” Mircea held his hand out and smiled innocently.

“You know him,” Preben frowned. “But you're not ratting him out either, are you?”

“Not on my life,” Mircea smiled wickedly. 

Preben opened his mouth to yell at Mircea, but stopped himself in time.  
Mircea was making him a fully functioning arm. He couldn't afford to anger the man.

“Have you been in the Dragon's Den?” Anika asked Maarten.

“Ehrm...” Maarten coughed and averted his gaze.

“I'm taking that as a yes,” Anika sighed.

“Traitor,” Preben grumbled.

“Hey now. A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do to put food on the table!” Maarten crossed his arms and glared at Preben. “And like I said, Erik isn't all bad. His reputation as 'King' isn't simply out of pure fear.”

“He stabbed me!” Preben pointed at his missing arm.

“And you want revenge. Yes, we get it,” Maarten sighed. “Welcome to the club,” he added bitterly.

“I need fresh air,” Preben muttered and stood up, kicking at the pile of papers before making his way back outside, curing Erik and the whole damned city under his breath.


	4. Descend

Fresh wasn't really how one could describe the air outside the shop, so Preben continued walking.

He grumbled and muttered to himself as he walked rather aimlessly further and further away from Mircea's shop, not really caring where he ended up until he stopped outside the familiar old house.

“Oh,” Preben sighed and stared up at the cracked windows. “Back again...” he frowned.

“Where's Ciprian?” a voice asked and Preben whirled around, staring down at the small white haired boy.

“At home,” Preben said and offered the boy a sympathetic smile, successfully hiding his surprise at the sickly little kid being outside at all again.

“Why are you here then?” Halldór asked with uncertainty, fidgeting with unease as he looked up at Preben.

“I got sort of lost,” Preben replied truthfully and shrugged. “This city is pretty new to me you see.”

“Oh,” Halldór seemed to accept this answer. “Where were you trying to go?” he asked.

“Not sure. A Park or something like it. A quiet area with a tree or two would be ideal... Do you know of one?”

“Yes,” Halldór replied brightly. “I can show you!”

“That's very kind of you,” Preben smiled. “But shouldn't you stay inside if you're ill?”

“Maybe,” Halldór shrugged. “But I'm bored and I've taken my medicine. So come on!” he laughed and set off down a small alleyway. 

Preben hesitated for a moment before rushing to catch up with the little boy. 

'You're running into a trap' his mind told him, but Preben pushed it away. He didn’t really care any more.

By the time Preben caught up to Halldór the boy had stopped running.

“Where are we?” Preben asked, looking around for any signs of an ambush.

“My secret garden,” Halldór whispered.

Preben thought the 'garden' looked and awfully lot like an over grown cemetery, but he just nodded – unwilling to ruing the kid's little dream.

“Nice place,” he lied.

“Come,” Halldór tugged at Preben's coat. “Come see.”

Preben let Halldór guide him to a large crypt, the names long since crumbled away, Halldór pausing for a moment to bow his head.  
“My brother says we have to treat the dead with respect,” he explained, and Preben felt compelled to bow too.

He followed Halldór inside the crypt, surprised the find the place filled with fresh flowers and little gifts of dried herbs.

“Mom and Dad sleep here,” Halldór said, crouching down to rearrange the flowers a little.  
It looked like the crypt was well take care off – dusty but still neatly kept. 

“I see,” Preben whispered, worried his voice would be too loud for this place.  
“I'll wait outside,” he eventually said, figuring it was perhaps best to let the boy mourn in peace.

Besides the fact that it was a graveyard, Preben had to admit it was rather nice and quiet.  
If he sat under one of the large old trees and closed his eyes he could imagine he was in a secluded little city park.

“It's nice, isn't it?” Halldór asked him and Preben jumped a little. Damn that kid was good at sneaking up in silence.

“Yeah,” Preben nodded. “It's a good place.”

“How's your arm?” 

“Oh,” Preben extended the mechanical arm up and looked at the fingers as he moved them slightly. “It's okay I suppose. Not as good as my real one was...”

“I think it looks cool,” Halldór smiled and giggled as Preben made a fist – the little gears whizzing around to make his digits obey the command.

“Sure is something at least,” Preben hummed.

“When I grow up I'm going to be a doctor,” Halldór proclaimed proudly. “So I can help people like you and me!”

“Nice plan that, “ Preben ruffled Halldór hair and smiled. “I'm sure you'll be a very good doctor.”

“Mhm, I'm studying hard,” Halldór replied and crossed his arm, trying to look stern. “My brother says it's hard work to get to university. But he brings me books to read, so I know I can do it.”

“Your brother sounds like a nice man,” Preben hummed.

“He's super nice. And famous,” Halldór grinned.

“Rich too?”

“Mhm,” Halldór nodded “Sort off.”

“Uh, so what's with your home?” Preben asked softly.

“Oh,” Halldór fell silent. “I can't tell you,” he whispered. “It's a secret.”

“I see,” Preben shrugged. “That’s fine.”

“Sorry,” Halldór mumbled.

“It's fine. Want to hear about where I live?”

“Yes,” Halldór shuffled closer to Preben and smiled brightly. “I love stories!”

“Well...” Preben grinned. “It's a lot further north, and my home country is pretty flat, but if you know where to go you can find truly amazing things!”

“Like what?”

“Many speak of mermaids living in the seas...”

“Mermaids?” Halldór whispered, childish curiosity gripping his interest in anything magic.

“Yes. Gorgeous ones who's song can pull anyone underneath the waves.”

“Wow,” Halldór whispered. “Is that why people don't take the sea routes any more?”

“Mhm,” Preben nodded. “That's probably part of it at least.”

“I'd love to meet one,” Halldór sighed wishfully.

“They'd eat you right up,” Preben laughed.

“Why?”

“You're too cute,” Preben smiled. “They'd find you too adorable.”

“But if I befriended them...” Halldór scratched his head. “Would they help me if I fell into the ocean?”

“Maybe. Mermaids are tricky creatures,” Preben chuckled. “Never know what they're thinking.”

“I'm gonna get a mermaid friend then,” Halldór proclaimed proudly and stood up. “Then Ciprian and me can go across the sea and not worry!”

“Good plan that,” Preben smiled.

“Yes. Then my brother doesn't have to worry about me either,” Halldór giggled and sat back down on the grass.  
“I could even come with him when he travels!”

“Maybe you should head home then,” Preben suggested carefully. “He might notice you're gone.”

“Oh...” Halldór looked worried. “You're right.”

“Halldór!” a faint voice sounded and Halldór eyes went wide.

“Oh no.... too late. He found me,” he whispered.

Preben was about to tell him it probably wasn’t that bad when the large cast iron gates to the cemetery creaked open.

He looked up to see who was coming, feeling his heart beat hard and fast as he spotted a far too familiar figure.

“Halldór...” Erik said softly, sounding a little weary, as he got closer and bent down to pick the boy up, hugging him tightly. “I told you not to come here alone. What if you had an attack?”

“I'm fine Erik...” Halldór mumbled, burying his face in his brother’s coat. “My medicine works now...”

“I know I know,” Erik whispered, cradling his little brother and looking awfully worried. “But you know how dangerous it is to go alone.”

“I'm not alone,” Halldór said and Erik momentarily tore his eyes away from Halldór to stare at Preben.

“Strange men are not good enough company,” he said sternly and Preben felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on edge.

Preben was speechless.  
He was so close.  
So close to reaching out and dragging Erik into his on personal space.

He could do it.

He had a small knife in his coat. Preben new he could reach out and make Erik pay.

But Preben couldn't move.

He watched as Erik hugged his brother. How careful and softly spoken he was around the young boy.  
The way his eyes didn't seem to leave Halldór for a moment.

This couldn't be the same man who'd stolen parts of his cargo, ambushed him in his bed and stabbed his left arm right down to the bone.  
The contrast was too great and Preben's mind refused to acknowledge it.

Erik didn't seem to pay him any more mind – or even recognise Preben.

“I'll get you home,” he heard Erik whisper to Halldór, and the worried look on Erik's face told Preben this wasn't the first time Halldór had left without coming home on his own accord.

“Thanks for watching him,” Erik said, and Preben flinched as he realised Erik was talking to him.

“No problem,” he lied. Trying to convince himself this couldn't be the same guy.  
His clothes were different, his manner of speaking more soft and careful – so unlike the pirate who had sounded so positively diabolic.  
The only thing that remained the same where the piercing eyes and the leather glove on his right arm.

“Always causing trouble,” Erik sighed and gave Halldór's cheek a soft kiss. “Don't know where you get it from.”

“Mom said it was you,” Halldór giggled, and even Preben cracked a smile at the comment.

“I'm sure she did,” Erik snorted. “But now, say goodbye to the nice man watching over you.”

Preben smiled sheepishly as he waved at Halldór.

“Bye,” Halldór waved at Preben with a big smile.

“Bye...” Preben waved in return, watching Erik carry Halldór out of the cemetery.

The second they were well out of sight he let out a sigh of relief.

It couldn’t be the same man.  
It was surely just a coincidence that they two looked alike.

He shook his head and stood up once he was certain he was alone.

Quietly, as if not to disturb anything in the graveyard, Preben made his way back to Mircea's shop.

He had to find the Dragon's Den now.  
Had to ensure that the pirate wasn't the same man who's just cooed over his little brother like a mother hen.

His lust for revenge still burned brightly, but it was being slowly devoured by a fog of uncertainty.


	5. Falling

“Oh, you're back!” Anika smiled when she spotted Preben in the doorway – little bell above his head jingling softly. “We started getting worried you'd gotten lost.”

“Dragon's Den,” Preben grumbled. “We're going there tonight.”

“You can't guarantee Erik will be there,” Maarten sighed. “He might not even be in the city.”

“I don't care. I want to see what filthy creatures lie in waiting there,” Preben gritted his teeth. “And I'm pretty sure he's in the city.”

“Attitude like that won't work in your favour,” Mircea chuckled darkly. “If you walk into the Den thinking you can vanquish the dragons down there then you'll only come out badly burnt.”

“Very funny,” Preben sneered.

“Oh no. I'm serious. Thieves and crooks look after one another. It's a whole city and community down there that thrive. Outsiders aren't welcome – let alone people from above ground who think they can exterminate whomever they deem to be vermin. Knights in shining armour don't belong with dragons. Surely you know that too?”

“But they are a pest,” Preben grumbled.

“To you, maybe. To us?” he gestured to himself and Ciprian. “They are our life line.”

“Who's side are you on?” Preben asked and glared.

“Air pirates of course. Once a pirate of the skies, always a pirate of the skies,” Mircea laughed. “You think this shop was built on white paper and good deeds alone?”

“No,” Preben truthfully admitted. “But I thought better of him,” he pointed accusingly at Maarten, who nonchalantly lit his pipe at the accusation.

“I went from navigator on a merchant ship to a victim of thieves,” Maarten said and blew a puff of smoke into the air. “Once I made it back home I swore I'd stick to being in a shop...”

“And then we went on a little adventure into the sky,” Mircea laughed. “And here we are!”

Preben's gaze wandered from Mircea to Maarten to Mircea again before his eyes fall on Maarten's mechanical arm.  
“I see,” he mumbled.

“So by all means. I can show you the Dragon's Den, but you'll be amongst the most dangerous people in the world – so you either listen to me and come out alive, or do your own thing and perish down there. Are we clear?”

Preben glared defyingly at Mircea before sighing deeply.  
“Yes,” he said through gritted teeth. “Clear as the blue skies..”

“Excellent. Don't bother wearing your best tonight. You'll only get robbed blind,” Mircea laughed.

“Are we all going?” Anika asked carefully.

“Sure, why not?” Maarten shrugged. “Good beer too be found in the Den too.”

“Oh fun,” Anika giggled.

“You two are enjoying this a little too much,” Preben grimaced.

“If you wander down there thinking you'll be ambushed, you will be ambushed,” Maarten warned. “So try not to think of it as anything more than a little drinking session.”

“Right,” Preben nodded. He doubted he could shake the uneasy feeling away in time, but he gathered he at least had to try.   
“I'm really hoping you'll explain how you know so much about a Den of Thieves at some point.”

“Don't count on it,” Maarten smirked. “Not with the attitude you've currently got going for you.”

“Noted,” Preben grumbled, feeling somewhat betrayed by everyone he thought he could trust.

The entrance to the Dragon's Den wasn't hard to find – not when Mircea knew the guards situated outside and simply tipped his hat at them, promoting them to move away from the door and allowing them entrance without a single word.

Preben tried not to stare too much at the various little weird stalls and shops in the underground Dragon's Arm's market. He saw weapons and food being sold side by side with strange things bottled up in dark glass jars.  
He didn't really want to know what was in them, and was thankful for Mircea and Maarten guiding him through the maze of the little black market.

“Good evening Natalia,” Mircea greeted a gorgeous blonde woman at the door to the Dragon's Den. “Guests behaving tonight?”

“Oh yes,” Natalia replied with a sneer. “They know better than to cause a raucous. The King is here tonight.”

“Wonderful. Do say hello to your brother for me, will you? Been a while since he's dropped by to have his leg looked at and I do so worry for him.”

“I will,” Natalia smirked and opened the door for them.

Preben braced himself for what he was sure to see beyond the doors – pirates and crooks fighting and causing a scene.  
He figured there was no rules down here, but he was wrong.

Oh so very wrong.

There was mellow music from a piano in the corner, the pianist a rather well dressed dark haired man who looked nothing like a crook or pirate at all. Meanwhile a small, bespectacled woman in a deep pink dress and a her hair in a long blonde braid accompanying the pianist with some very nice harp music.

He spotted his brother Björn behind the bar next to a woman with long brown hair and a friendly smile.

It looked like any other pub or inn did above ground. There were no visible weapons in sight, and no one was shouting or starting a fight – making it by far one of the nicer places Preben had been in in his life.

“Neat isn't it?” Mircea chuckled. “Let's grab a table.”

Preben nodded and followed after Mircea, who seemed to know where to go.

“Mind if we sit here?” Anika asked a man lying slumped over a table.

The man didn't reply, but Preben heard a loud snore.

“He won't mind,” Mircea smiled and took a seat next to the sleeping guy.

“Uh, shouldn't we try to wake him up?” Anika asked carefully, looking worriedly at the sleeping man. “What if he needs assistance?”

“Nah, he always sleeps here. His friends come pick him up once they're done drinking,” Mircea gestured to a bunch of men up by the bar, one of whom turned around and waved enthusiastically at Mircea.

“That's Sadiq. He's a regular here. Runs a merchant line between here and Micklegarth,” Mircea explained.

“Legal or...?” Preben asked.

“Legal. But he ensures he gets there safely by having some connections down here,” Maarten filled in. “Won a few bar fights and stuff like that, which is a pretty good way to earn respect down here.”

“I see,” Preben scratched his head, wondering if everyone was simply pulling his leg and would soon draw weapons and murder one another in front of his very eyes.  
“And the King himself?” he whispered and tried to look around the crowded bar for Erik.

“There,” Mircea smiled and pointed to the opposite side of the room – and sure enough, there he was.  
The Air ship pirate King himself.  
Erik was dressed in a sky blue coat, leather eye-path over one eye and a hat hung over the back of the chair.  
A blonde man with his hair pulled into a ponytail was showing him some scrolls of paper, but they were too far away for Preben to see what the scrolls contained.

At the very same table was also a young man Preben did recognise.

Matthew Williams was a soft spoken young man who Preben had met on a few occasions when out travelling – seeing him here in the Den sitting next to Erik make him sick.  
How many people were really a part of the Den? 

Preben couldn't help but stare.  
He wanted this Erik to not be the same as the one who had picked Halldór up so carefully – but if it wasn't the same person then there had to be two of them, and Preben wasn’t sure he liked that idea either.

“Does Erik have family?” Preben whispered.

“His crew?” Mircea replied with a shrug.

“No. Like, blood family. A sister? Brother?” Preben glanced back at the Pirate King and tried to picture this man holding a tiny white haired boy lovingly in his arms. The puzzle piece didn't fit quite right.

“Oh,” Mircea scratched his head. “Yeah. He's got a little brother. Sickly little kid really. Doesn't come out much.”

“I see....” Preben felt sick.

“What can I get you...” Björn's voice said from behind Preben's back and Preben whirled around in his chair.

“What are you doing here?” they said in unison.

“I'm working,” Björn hissed in reply. “So the questions goes back to you.”

“Really?” Preben glared.

“Really.” Björn replied coolly.

“Four beers,” Maarten said, ignoring the dirty looks the two brothers were giving one another. “You two can fight this out later.”

“Four beers coming up,” Björn replied dully and turned on his heel before Preben could say another word. 

“Lay low,” Mircea reminded him and Preben sighed deeply in defeat. 

Even when Björn brought them their beer, Preben didn't move. He just stared at the tankard wishfully.

“It's really good,” Anika whispered, nudging Preben. “Try it.”

Preben stared at the beer for a moment longer before hesitantly taking a sip.

“It's not poison,” he muttered, taking another sip and licking his lips.

“As if anyone would serve poisoned beer here,” Maarten scoffed.

“Well,” Preben gave a half-hearted shrug, choosing not to finish his sentence when he saw the disappointed look on Maarten's face.

“Well, well, well...” the blonde woman who had been playing the harp said as she came closer. “Fresh blood?” she added and tilted her head towards Preben.

“Good evening Cécile,” Mircea smiled. “Charmed if you'll join us.”

“Oh no. I don't want to come between anyone here,” Cécile giggled and glanced between Maarten and Mircea.

“You can sit here,” Anika smiled and gestured to a chair between her and Preben.

“Mhhm,” Cécile tapped her chin thoughtfully before taking a seat. “Sure, since you insist,” she smiled coyly at Anika.

Preben tried to smile politely, but as Maarten and Mircea seemed to get a little too close while Anika was trying her best to chat up Cécile, Preben figured he'd either join the sleeping man or the people at the bar.

'Bar it is,' he thought to himself when the sleeping man continued to snore – oblivious to the two cats who had chosen him as their new bed. Preben shook his head lightly and slowly made his way through the tables.

“Still here?” Björn asked.

“Surprised?” Preben asked and raised an eyebrow.

“A little. Figured you'd run away by now...” Björn shrugged and poured him a drink.

“Thought has struck me,” Preben admitted. “There's a lot of people her I feel I shouldn't get too close too...”

“Well, better get moving then,” Björn whisperer.

“What?” Preben asked, but Björn was already tending to patrons further down the bar.

“You're in my spot,” a chillingly familiar voice said and Preben slowly turned around, hair at the back of his neck on edge.

“Sorry,” he whispered as he met the glare of the King himself.

“Joking, joking,” Erik waved lazily and squeezed himself next to Preben alongside the bar.  
Preben could feel Erik's arm against his and he ached to reach over and smash the man's perfect face into the hard wooden table. 

He swallowed nervously as Björn passed them, placing a drink wordlessly in front of Erik – who replied with a silent nod in thanks.

“So you did dare come find me...” Erik said and Preben's entire body tensed. “Well done,” Erik added with a chuckle.

“I...” Preben began but Erik cut him off.

“Want revenge? Want to kill me? Cut of a limb?”

“All of the above,” Preben grumbled.

“Oh. What limb are we talking? I've not got many left,” Erik chuckled darkly and Preben slowly turned his head to properly look at Erik.

“Hu?” he said, genuinely confused until Erik unbuttoned the glove on his right arm.  
Beneath it Preben caught a glimpse of gears spinning as Erik moved his fingers.

“I mean, you can have a go at my left leg if you want,” Erik laughed softly and Preben's gaze fell to Erik's feet. His eyes widened in surprise and slight horror as Erik pulled up his right trouser leg just enough to reveal move metal.  
No wonder Erik had helped Maarten when he had lost an arm.  
He himself relied on artificial limbs to function.

“So you go around stabbing people so they'll need replacement limbs too?” Preben frowned.

“Not really. You were sort of an accident,” Erik replied calmly before taking a large gulp of his drink.

“Accident?” 

“Mhm.”

“So I lost my left arm because you simply made a mistake?” Preben sneered.

“No need to raise your voice,” Erik replied, calm as ever. “One wrong move in here and you'll loose more than just an arm.”

“I can kill you before any of your little goons reach us,” Preben hissed.

“Doubt it,” Erik smirked. “And even if you did you'd be torn into pieces in seconds. Not a single person here wouldn't jump to my defence should I need it.”

“And you'd risk your life on that belief?”

“No, I know it to be true,” Erik smiled smugly and Preben felt the tip of a blade pressed against his back. He didn't know who was standing behind him, nor did he dare look.  
“If you want 'revenge' I propose we duel it out in a week's time.”

“A week?” Preben blinked, the blade at his back now gone, but he didn't dare move. He was certain whomever it was who had Erik's back was still listening.

“I figure you'll need some time to get used to fighting with your new limb. Takes a while to know how hard you have to grip something,” Erik reached out and lifted a small glass up with his right arm – holding the glass precariously between his gloved fingertips.  
“One wrong move and you can do more damage to yourself than your opponent.” Erik explained and handed Preben the glass.

Preben flinched when he tried to grasp the glass with his left hand, crushing it the moment he tried to hold it like Erik had done.

“Some finesse needed,” Erik chuckled. “But you'll get there.” 

“And this duel, what's in it for me?” Preben glared.

“Besides revenge?” Erik finished his drink and pushed the tankard away from him. “Hm. If you win I'll promise you safe travel in the skies for the next five years.”

“Is that a promise?”

“As a Pirate and a King,” Erik smirked and held his hand out to Preben. “My word is an honourable as you'll ever get.”

“Fine. A week...” Preben shook Erik's hand, feeling the metal beneath the glove.

“Excellent. You know the cemetery? The one my little brother showed you?”

The words seemed to hurt him more than the dagger had ever done.

Of course it had been the same Erik. He knew that, but he'd desperately wanted it to not be.

He didn't want this cold and gruesome pirate 'King' to be the same man who Halldór so earnestly looked up to and adored.  
It wasn't fair.

“Yes,” Preben swallowed, nodding weakly as he felt cold sweat forming down his back.

“Good. There at noon exactly one week from now. Agreed?”

“Okay...” Preben nodded.  
“Good. Now I must be off. I have some business to attend to.” Erik waved lazily and made his way back to the large table and the two men waiting for him there.

Preben tried to subtly watch Erik wave his way through the numerous tables, catching the eye of Björn who was pouring beer for the man named Sadiq.

“So what idiocy did you agree on?” Björn asked as he handed Preben another beer, joining him for a moment.

“A duel,” Preben whispered.

“Oh...” Björn fell silent.

“And he said stabbing me in the arm was an accident,” Preben frowned. “I don't understand anything.”

“Can't help you there either,” Björn frowned. “I don't meddle in the affairs of sky pirates.”

“No. You just serve them alcohol.” Preben grimaced.

“It's a job,” Björn shrugged.

“And what about your dream of being a ship builder? Hmm?”

“Put on hold. No one hires new guys these days. Tino was kind enough to offer me a job despite no experience, and well, it's not too bad here.”

“You could have come home. Worked for me again,” Preben frowned.

“No offence,” Björn sighed. “No wait. Full offence. No way in hell am I working for you again.”

“What?”

“You and I are not cut out to work together in a business. You want my help in a fight? Sure. I'll have your back. But have you as my boss again? No way. We both know that didn't go well and won't go well if we try again.”

“All brothers fight...” Preben muttered. 

“Perhaps so. But I don't want to work with you.” Björn sighed.

“So instead of earning an honest living, you stay here in the dark Dragon’s Den..” Preben glanced around the bar, finding the whole atmosphere a little thrilling if not also terrifying.

“They don't harm me...” Björn shrugged. “And stick around long enough and you'll find they're not as different from you as you think. Jump off that high horse of yours from time to time. It does you good to walk alongside 'commoners'.”

“Screw you,” Preben grumbled bitterly under his breath, receiving a cold glare in return. “I was just going about my own legal business when a damned pirate just comes in and ruins it all.”

“Did say it was an accident,” Björn shrugged.

“How do you accidentally stab someone in the arm while asking for coordinates?” Preben grimaced, tapping his metal fingers against the bar.

“Ask him next time,” Björn suggested, running a hand through his short hair before opting to polish his glasses. “Trade routes and merchant ships come with all kinds of dangers. If he says it was an accident or misunderstanding then I'd believe him.”

“You didn't loose our arm,” Preben reminded him bitterly.

“No. True. But there are other things much more important that one can loose...”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Björn shrugged. “You better go join your friends before they forget you're here.”

Preben turned around to follow Björn's gaze, relieved to find that Maarten and Anika hadn't run off without him – but given the laughter and smiles shared around the table they probably weren't far off from calling it a night.

How anyone could be so relaxed in such an atmosphere was a little beyond him, but he was glad they hadn't left him to his own devices.  
It was probably not far from the truth that he'd end up starting a fight he couldn't win if no one was there to stop him.

Preben tried to relax as he sat back down at the table, only listening with half an ear to the other's idle chatter.  
One week.  
He had one week to better himself and his mechanical arm.

One week to become better than Erik.

Deep down he knew he'd fail. However, he decided to mull it over tomorrow instead.  
Right now he was glad for any drinks passed his way and the opportunity to ignore the man sitting only six tables away from him.

One week.  
He could do that.  
Maybe.


	6. Free Fall

A whole week was plenty of time in Preben's mind, Mircea's warning of not over doing it was pushed far far away from his consciousness.

He had every reason to want revenge he told himself. Every reason to pick up his axe and cut off the pirate's other limb.

However, his eagerness to beat the so called Pirate King into pulp was somewhat halted by his new arm.  
It didn't grip like he wanted it to, and no matter how many times Mircea tweaked, fixed and altered it, the arm simply would not obey Preben's commands like he wanted it to.

“You've got to stop thinking it will be as perfect as a real arm,” Maarten said, offering a bit of advice as Preben trained.  
“And your little drawing of Erik is atrocious by the way.”

“Shut up,” Preben panted. “I never was a good artist.” he frowned and aimed his axe at the crudely drawn stick figure of Erik he'd drawn and attached to a wooden pole for target practise.

“I can see that,” Maarten laughed. “It's also not a moving target, and Erik will undoubtedly move.”

“You want to be my target practise instead?”

“No thanks. I like my remaining limbs to sty as they are,” Maarten frowned and dug through his pockets to find his pipe.

“I promise I won't hurt you too badly.”

“That's very reassuring of you. But I'll still pass,” Maarten scoffed and inspected his pipe, tapping out some old tobacco before re-filling it.

“Spoil sport,” Preben huffed.

“I've seen the 'friendly' sparring matches you've had with your brother back in the day. I am not going to be your punching bag.”

“Maybe Mircea wants to help me then...”

“If you as much as touch him I will personally rip off your other arm,” Maarten warned coolly.

“Okay,” Preben laughed nervously, Maarten didn't look like he was joking.

He settled for practising alone. 

Ciprian loved watching him train, offered some strange but sometimes oddly helpful pointers.  
“You look like a cow who's about to be tipped over.”

“What?” Preben paused and stared at him.

“You're off balance,” Ciprian grinned. “He'll topple you over with no problem.”

“Uh...” Preben glanced down at his own stance and frowned. His feet weren't placed far enough apart, and in a perfect line he risked being toppled over at just a mere gust of wind.  
“You're right,” he added and changed his stance, trying to commit it to memory.

It didn't really matter if he'd remember to keep his stance wide enough to stay stable; a week couldn't undo several years of bad habits.

But Preben was stubborn – and giving up wasn't part of his revenge plan.

 

“Not coming with me?” Preben asked Maarten on the day, fastening his mechanical arm properly before putting on his coat. Maarten cracked one eye open and turned to look at Preben from his position on the worn out sofa – Mircea sleeping on top of him. “Where's Anika?”

“I'm comfy here and you're the one out for revenge,” Maarten replied and flipped through a book that looked like it had travelled around the world five times. “And my sister is on a date.”

“Traitors,” Preben grumbled.  
“What if Erik brought his whole crew to ambush me?”

“He won't,” Maarten reassured him without even taking his eyes off the book.

“Fine. Bloody traitors the whole lot of you,” Preben frowned, gripping the axe with his mechanical arm.

“Mircea said to be careful. A direct hit you your metal arm will still hurt.”

“Whatever,” Preben spat and slammed the door behind him.

He paused outside the cemetery, staring through the iron gates for any movement but spotted nothing out of the ordinary.

The gate creaked as he pushed against it, but the sound prompted nothing more than a few birds to take flight.

He had a hunch where to find Erik, but refused to follow the slightly overgrown path to the crypt, opting instead to circle the cemetery for another route that might not lead to an ambush.

To his surprised the cemetery didn't seem to be rigged with any sort of trap or ambush and he found Erik sleeping underneath one of the old trees – hat pulled over his face and coat used as a blanket.

Preben paused, grip firmly around his axe as he watched Erik's chest rise and fall gently underneath the white shirt.

'Too easy,' he thought to himself and nervously glanced around.   
He took a step closer, but Erik made no movement or indication of having heard him.

“Hey,” Preben finally said, and nudged Erik's right foot with the tip of his axe.

Erik made a incomprehensible grumbled sound and yawned, removing his hat and rubbing his eyes.

“Oh, you came,” he said and yawned once more.

“Of course,” Preben frowned.

“Wasn't sure,” Erik scratched the back of his head before slowly standing up, brushing grass and leaves off his clothes before folding his coat neatly up.  
“What did you bring?” he asked and eyed Preben up and down.

“Uh...” Preben took a small step backwards.

“Axe?” Erik asked and gestured to the weapon in Preben's hand.  
“Nice choice,” he chuckled. “But you're going to need more than that.”

“What?” Preben blinked, put off by how at ease about this Erik seemed to be.

“Better wear a glove,” Erik said as he rummaged through a small knapsack, flinging a thick leather glove at Preben. “Delicate machinery is not something you want a sword to ruin.”

Preben stared at the glove before carefully slipping it on, flexing his fingers – surprised at the perfect fit. Somehow he suspected Mircea had a hand in the making of the glove too.

“I was going to suggest swords, but if you've chosen to use your axe then it will be sword versus axe,” Erik continued, drawing the sword that had been lying next to him out of it's sheath.   
It was beautifully crafted, but showed some wear and tear – Preben didn't doubt Erik knew how to use it.

“Left handed,” Preben remarked as he watched Erik lightly swing the sword around with his non-metallic arm.

“Indeed. In a pinch I can use my right, but...” Erik wriggled his fingers and Preben nodded. Erik didn't have to explain why he used his real arm.   
He figured Erik still struggled a little with what Preben was having to just halfway cope with – one's grip was never as accurate with a mechanical limb as it was with a real one.

He didn't know how long Erik had been living without his right arm, but it was clear that for all the wonders of Mircea's craftsmanship, some things could not be replicated well enough.

“I hope the axe isn't just for show,” Erik smirked and shifted his legs out into a wider stance – and Preben followed suit.

“Hardly,” he grumbled.

“Excellent. Then this won't be too boring,” Erik's smirk transformed into a wicked grin and Preben felt his heart beat faster.

Erik was fast on his feet – surprisingly so. Preben narrowly avoided the sword by mere microseconds, the metal resonating in his axe and arm as the sword hit his axe with tremendous force.

“Wrong weapon for this fight,” Erik remarked, voicing Preben's own fears out loud. “Admirable that you even try.” he added and stepped back.

Preben braced himself for another attack, trying to watch Erik's footwork to predict where he'd attack next.

However, Preben had never fought an opponent like Erik.  
He had chased minor crooks and scoundrels off with his axe before, but no one had ever fought back with anything larger than a dagger.

Erik was quick and experienced. Unafraid and unfazed by Preben's height or weapon.

For each time Preben tried to attack, Erik was quick to move out of harm's way – bringing his own sword down on Preben's axe till he felt the gears in his arm start to loosen.  
No matter how hard he tried to grip the handle with both hands, it didn't help that Erik was faster and more agile.

Each hit to the axe made it harder and harder to hold onto the heavy weapon, and Erik was relentless.

This was something Erik had done before.  
He parried each blow just at the right moment, leaving Preben with a quickly dulling axe while his own sword stayed relatively sharp and dangerous. 

“Slows you down,” Erik said as he lightly sidestepped Preben's swing. “And you've not got a shield,” he added as he stepped closer again, tip of his sword aimed straight at Preben's neck.

Preben froze, sweat dripping down his face as the sword glinted in the sunshine.

“I think we can say this win is mine,” Erik added, but Preben didn't dare move.   
Even when Erik removed the sword, re-sheating it and placing back on the ground Preben remained still as a stone.

“Come on,” Erik said and patted the ground next to him. “I brought drinks,” he added.

Preben hesitated for a moment, before letting his axe fall to the ground, hesitantly joining Erik on the grass.

“There we go,” Erik hummed, handing Preben a small wooden goblet before opening a bottle of wine. “A little drink after a battle is always a good idea.”

Preben sniffed the wine cautiously, taking a small sip once he saw Erik was gulping it down like it was nothing. Probably not poison he reasoned to himself.

“Sorry about your revenge. But I don't loose on purpose,” Erik said and raised his glass to the sky.

“I can tell...” Preben muttered.

“No hard feelings, I just have too much to do than to let you win.”

“Right...” Preben sighed, unfastening the leather glove and surveying the damage on his arm. Mircea was probably going to be angry and Anika was going to scold him for doing something so reckless so early on in his healing process.  
Done was done, he argued to himself before his gaze drifted to Erik unfastening his boots, stretching his legs out onto the grass with a satisfied sigh.

Preben couldn't help but stare at Erik's mechanical leg as he moved it ever so slightly.  
He'd get used to his arm eventually – Maarten was proof enough of that.   
But an arm and a leg?  
How long did one have to work and practice to make that work?

“So... how did you loose your arm and leg?” Preben asked when he felt the silence became more stifling than welcome.

“Got them cut off,” Erik shrugged.

“By pirates?”

“Nah. Government,” Erik replied, a hint of bitterness to his voice.

“For what? Your crimes?”

“What crimes do you think a eight year old could commit that would warrant a leg and an arm in retribution?”

Preben felt the blood drain from his head and a nasty feeling build up in his stomach.  
“Wh-what?” he stammered.

“I was an example,” Erik frowned. “A warning from the government to anyone who thought they could stand on their own. My father thought he could make it big by hard work alone, but that's simply not allowed. The government made an example of me to scare him off, but it had the opposite effect in the end. I promised my father I'd not let the government make an 'example' of any more children, and here we are...”

“I.. I don't understand...”

“Trade routes are sacred things for the government. The safer the routes the more worthwhile they are for merchants and the government alike. But who keeps the routes safe?”

“The government?” Preben replied uncertainly. 

“And how, pray tell, do they do it?”

“By arresting pirates?”

“Hardly,” Erik scoffed. “They can't arrest us all. So they simply set up traps for other merchants. You, I regret to say, was one of them.”

“Hu?” Preben blinked and stared a Erik, his whole body feeling worn but tense.

“We were after another ship. A ship that was supposed to take the same route you took, but like many high class merchants – the man who we should have stolen goods from changed his route at the last minute, giving you the opportunity to take the ship and route instead...” Erik explained.  
“Had I know Maarten was the captain I wouldn't have come near your ship, but we realised that a little too late.”

“So... you really did think I was someone else.”

“Mhm. The cargo we wanted was a load of papers – government approved routes and documents detailing the lengths and depths they go to ensure how only the merchants who pay them get to sell what they want, where they want, whenever they want.”  
Erik closed his eyes and leaned against the tree, taking a deep breath as the wind gently rustled the leaves above their heads. 

“So the coordinates?”

“Weren't the right ones... Your destination wasn't the same and thus you weren't the right man I was looking for.” Erik hummed softly. “The man we wanted was heading for Aþena, which is 37°58′N by 23°43′E. So... mistake on my part there.”

“Well apologises won't grow back my arm,” Preben muttered. 

“Certainly not. No pardons or excuses do either. Although it wasn't my intention of rendering it so useless it had to be cut off,” Erik frowned. “Usually I leave people with just a scar...”

“Anika's not the one to go overboard with saws,” Preben frowned.

“Of course not. Like I said, unfortunate accident,” Erik sighed. “And the documents we were looking for are now safe and sound in Aþena.” He spat the last work out bitterly before refilling his goblet.

“And the things you did steal off me?”

“Take a wild guess,” Erik smiled and passed Preben the bottle of wine. “You met met little brother, did you not?”

“Ah...” Preben went silent. Of course. Medicine.  
“Couldn't you just buy the things you need?”

“My money goes into investments for the future,” Erik explained simply. “Medicine is expensive, even more so for people who don't follow government orders or rules, so we make do.”

“And what compensations are you going to offer me for my loss?”

“Depends what you're after,” Erik shrugged. “Do you want to return home and try again? Go back to a trade route where only luck will ensure you reach your destination, or will you do as the officials tell you? Pay them all the profit they ask for so you won't end up like the others who don't pay for a safe route?”

“I...” Preben paused and scratched his head. “I don't know...”

“I can offer you a much better job if you want. One that if done correctly can have you earning much more than what the government would ever allow you to do.”

“Are you asking me to join you and your little Pirate crew?”

“Little would be an understatement,” Erik laughed. “Depending on what you define as a crew.”

“'King' isn't a nickname...” Preben mumbled to himself, remembering Maarten and Mircea's words. 

“I'm good, but not the type to make up a label like that,” Erik smiled. “But I'll give you time to think about it.”

“And if I am to accept, what exactly do you want me to do?”  
Preben felt intrigued by Erik's stories. He didn't doubt that most of it was true, and hell – he was already mixed up with crooks and pirates already.   
Taking a job for the King himself wasn't going to lower his reputation.

If anything, it would probably just improve it at this point he argued to himself. 

“Maarten speaks well off you, and I trust his words,” Erik said. “I could always use a new right hand man.”

“I'll think about it...” Preben lied. 

He'd already made up his mind.

After all, if his best friend and his own brother were already part of the Dragon's Den and all the things the name brought with it, then he figured it wasn't really beneath him to take up residence there either.

“Fresh blood keeps the dragon's body working,” Erik whispered. “And I guarantee you won't be bored around me.”

“Heh,” Preben snorted. “I don't think so either.”

“Excellent.” Erik smirked. “Does that mean we have a deal?”

“My service don't come cheap, Pirate,” Preben chuckled. “King or not.”

“I'm sure I can find a suitable method of payment for you,” Erik replied and licked his lips.

Preben paused, fixated a moment too long on Erik's lips.  
“Say,” he began. “Do you kiss all the victims of your air ship raids?”

“Hm?” Erik turned and looked genuinely surprised for a moment.  
“Oh right. That,” he smiled. “No I don't. Only the ones I like.” he added with a shrug.

“Uhu,” Preben smiled smugly in return. “Some weird pirate you are then.”

“How so? Did you not enjoy it?”

“At the time?” Preben scoffed. “Hardly,” he lied.

“And in hindsight?” 

“Well,” Preben licked his own lips at the thought, hiding his face with the goblet of wine.

“Perhaps that's the payment you're after?” Erik teased and Preben wanted to blame the heat he felt in his face on the wine.

“Still too cheap,” he managed to grumble.

“Oh?” Erik snorted and handed him the bottle of wine. “My feelings are hurt. Here I thought a kiss from me would be worth a lot!”

“Dream on,” Preben teased lightly. 

“Don't need to,” Erik hummed happily as he sipped his wine. “You're as good as sold anyway.”

“Maybe I am, maybe I'm not,” Preben replied. “I still want my arm back.”

“You won't say that in a year's time after a few trips up in the sky.”

“You sound so sure...”

“Because I know a good pirate when I see one,” Erik laughed. “And you have pirate written all over you clear as day.”

“I've never been a pirate before,” Preben reminded him.

“Doesn't matter. It will suit you. I know it will.”

“We'll see about that...” Preben rolled his eyes.

“Oh yes. We certainly will.” Erik smiled. “Cheers,” he added and held his goblet out towards Preben. “For the future!”

“For the future,” Preben echoed and hit his goblet against Erik's – the wood clunking together with a dull sound.

For the unknown future – but a an exciting one none the less; he thought to himself as he drank the rest of his wine next to the Pirate King himself.  
A strange and dangerous future.  
A future that terrified and excited him all the same.

Yes.  
Preben grinned to himself.  
“To a great future,” he said and laughed. “A really, really, great one.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Chartini for proofreading! <3


End file.
